


Dear diary

by Ashlin_M_Harsley



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Foster Care, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24735916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlin_M_Harsley/pseuds/Ashlin_M_Harsley
Summary: Some boy stops a man from harassing a woman in Johns bus. The boy forgets his stuff and John decides to take it with him, so he can later bring it back. That doesn't work out that well...
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Dear diary

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I hope you enjoy this one shot.  
> I start really liking those short storys and maybe you do too. I would be happy about some reviews from you :D  
> Have a nice day

The inside of the bus smells like wet dog, drying clothes and smog when I enter, and crumble together on the window seat. Rain is pouring down outside, some drops run over the glass and I watch their little game, ignore the voiced around me and instead start to think of a good excuse why I'll be home so late after a school day.  
My father would kill me if I told him that I went to a protest for stricter gun-controll, and I would like to survive my schooltime until I can move out to college and be who I really am. Although, I don't even want to go to college and become a lawyer, because that is my father wish, but I would probably do everything to move out as soon as possibly.

I lean my head against the cold window and scratch the inside of my head for a good pretext, when the man starts talking. Its nothing special when people in the bus talk, but there is a difference between having a conversation and yelling angry at a woman. I shift around in my seat and look over at the man and the woman, try to eavesdrop.  
“Stop ignoring me! I just told you you have a nice ass, isn't that a compliment? Damn arrogant-” In the moment I want to get up and stand between them, my heart pounds loud in my chest, the adrenaline already rushes trough my veins, someone else is already there and has crushed himself between the standing men and the sitting woman, who looks frightened at the far bigger male.

“Leave her alone. Just because you think your violent sexism against a woman is to justify, doesn't mean I will let you get away with harassing someone that obviously isn't interested in your primitive humiliation and also-” Its a boy, with messy, brown hair and a voice so quick and sharp that you could probably cut yourself alone on his fast sentences.

I gawked at him, while he continued to tell the macho a lecture about harassment and how he has complexes if he really thinks its necessary to bother a woman so pitiful that a whole bus can see his fear of regret. In the last sentence the man snaps.  
The boys face jerks to the side, while a big hand print appears red on his face. The brown haired only huffs and when he turns his head again towards the man I recognize the bruises on his naked arms. Its pouring outside and he only wears a T-shirt, some ripped jeans and shoes that are so dirty and old that its hard to say what exactly they were once.

My breath is stuck in my throat. I hate violence, always did it, but I feel like my feet are made of concrete, because I just can't make them stand up and go to help those both.

“If you think you are so smart, why don't we clarify it outside huh?” The huge man asks and I can feel my stomach drop. I feel sick, while the boys eyes twitch towards the doors for a moment, nervous and tense. Then he slowly nods.  
“Yes, although I think people use only violence in a verbal debate when they can't defend their own stupid ideas and opinions.”

The bus stops and the young boy goes outside, followed by the man, while the woman still sits in her seat like a statue. I can finally bring myself onto my feet and walk toward the crying girl, now that I come near her I only see how young and small she really is.  
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask and hear the doors closing behind me and the noise of heavy rain stops. The bus drives again and she looks up at me with big blue eyes, that look so frightened like I feel. I give her a soft smile, try to calm her nerves down and mine probably too.

“I am John Laurens.” I say and she looks me up and down, before nodding. I keep my voice soft and my eyes fall onto a empty seat, the one where the boy sat before, and next to it is a black bagpack with some holes in it.  
“Maria Reynolds.” She finally says and I feel warm, good that she trusts me this far. I tear my eyes away from the boys bag that he obviously forgot, and look at the dark haired woman in her red dress. She looks good, with her red lipstick and the darker skin. If I wasn't gay I would have probably dated a girl like her once.

“Well. Do you want me to bring you home? Its maybe safer.” I suggest her and she gives me a suspicious look, as if she wonders if she can trust me any more then the man that is probably kicking this boys ass right now. Maria shakes slowly her head. “No, thank you. I can do this myself.”

I nod, get up and grab the boys bag pack. He will probably not come in here again, so I can just take it with me home. To my own suprise, my father doesn't even asks where I have been, and I disappear into my own room, rubbing my hair dry with a good smelling towel. I did already eat with Lafayette, between our school and the protest, so I don't need any more before the breakfast tomorrow.  
Its already Friday night, so I just sit down onto my desk, after getting into my pajama pants and a warm hoodie with a turtle on it, start a playlist with music videos on YouTube, and then pull the strangers bagpack in front of me.

There are many holes inside the black fabric and there is a patch on the side with the words “First Coffee, Then Work.” I raise amused an eyebrow and open the zipper, to pull out his stuff. Maybe there is a actual address written down somewhere.  
I grab inside and get out... books. No wonder that this thing is so heavy, for some moments I thought this boy collects stones, but instead five books settle down on my desk. They are all from the library, except for one. Its a notebook with black cover and blue cord as a bookmark.

I open the first page and on the inside of the cover is a address, written with blue ballpoint and crossed out again. Alexander Hamilton, stands above it and down at the page is another address, also crossed out, and a third that isn't. I raise my eyebrow and look at the three adresses.  
Two in New York, and the newest in Virginia.  
It makes sense when I read through the second address again. Orphanage, the boy has to be in a foster home here in Virginia.

I should write the address down and then close the notebook, because its obviously his diary, but the curiosity inside of me grows inside of me and I bite my chest. I shouldn't read it. I really shouldn't, because I don't want that anybody reads my notes either, but then I see this boys brown hair again, his smart face and the sharp words, and I open the first real page.  
It wont hurt to read one page, I will probably never meet him again after I brought the bag back to him.

The lamp on my desk gives me some yellow light and I turn off the laptop. I can't focus with music in the background. Alexander Hamilton has a nice handwriting, clean but it reads like he tried to write everything down as fast as possibly.

_24th of December_   
_Today is christmas evening and I sit in the New York Orphanage again. I came from the hospital yesterday and Seabury directly told me what a unthankful brat I am for not behaving at his friends home who fostered me for the last three months. But Mister Seabury is an asshole anyway, so why should his friend be any better? I would honestly like to beat this King-guy until he spits blood, for nearly drowning me in his own bathtube. The worst is, he didn't even send me to school, but homeschooled me. So no, there wasn't any way I could have called Seabury and told him to get me out of this home. Besides even I am smarter then King and I wasn't even able to go into the library. So goodbye to good books and all the hobbies I have left._   
_And when I finally was able to call Seabury, he still left me there for a few weeks because of “problems with the paperwork.”_

_Miss Ramon gave me this book, saying it would maybe help with my violent behavior if I just write down what bothers me, but that is exactly the problem: I write everything down but nobody listens. I told them that Seabury sends me from one abusive home into another because he hates me, but they don't believe me and I hate them for it. I hate them for sending me to America, I hate them for sending me into the system and I am sick of being the violent orphan immigrant that everybody wants to see me as._

I swallow hard and look at the pages. Wow, that is a new level of injustice and spitefullness. Lafayette is an orphan as well, but he never said that he got beaten up or anything, but thats probably because he came directly to the Washingtons after his parents died and George and Martha are his legal guardians. I wonder where Alexander comes from, because he said he is an immigrant, and what happened to his legal guardians.  
I turn the page and continue reading.

_27th of December_   
_I went to the doctor again today and he said my ribs are healing good. If I have luck it will be completely recovered in a few weeks, that s of course, if I don't get beaten up again. And Seabury will pick me up tomorrow and bring me into a new foster home huhu! So in other words, the rips will not recover in the next few weeks._

I raise an eyebrow about this. Even thought I don't have a glue who Seabury is (probably his social worker) I already can't stand the man. I wonder who can beat up a boy so bad that he breaks several rips and then they still bring him back into foster homes, but I probably don't know enough about this subject to judge it.

_1st of January_   
_New year, new luck huh? Seabury picked me up at 5 in the morning and we are driving into my new home. He told me, if I don't do it right this time, he will send me out of the city, probably even into a new state. I hope its not Texas, but lets be honest, I will not stay long. I never do._   
_The parents offer me a piece of their american-pie live until they see how much smarter then them I am, then they get angry at me for not treating them like my real parents, and then they either beat me until I run away, or they kick me out right on spot. The last thing is better, but in the end I always sit in Seaburys car again._

_Back, when they shipped me out of St. Croix I told myself I couldn't fall any deeper, but life surprised me and started to dig into the ground. But I only need to do it a few more years until I can attend College, if they give me my scholarship of course. If I get kicked out of more houses and change even more schools they will never let me study law. My whole damn life is a piece of garbage._

I raise my eyebrow and swallow hard. Where is St. Croix? I open my laptop again and search for the name in Google. St. Croix, a island in the Caribbean. I scroll a bit down and stop, when one word catches my attention and I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.  
There was a Hurricane, a few years ago. I open the page and read it trough. When I am finish, I lean back in my chair and stare at the photos of the destroyed island and close my eyes for a moment. I wonder if Alexander was still in St. Croix when this happened, but there can be hardly another reason why they brought him into the states. I count back how old he was then, when he is now the same age as me he must have been... 13 years old? When I was this age my worst fear was the next math test.

I take the book back and look at the pages, written in blue letters and with so much pain and anger that it makes me dizzy. I only read a few pages and it feels like I already know who Alexander Hamilton is, as if I knew more about him then anybody else because this is honest. What he has written down in this diary is the purest form of him, I just feel it and it fills me with shame that I just read it, without consent.  
I turn the page anyway and look at a picture that is glued there. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a hijab smiles into the camera, has her arms laid around two boys, one with dark brown skin and black locks, the other with brown and flat hair, the smart face of the Alexander Hamilton he saw in the bus today, but so much younger.

_6th of January_   
_I just woke up from a dream. I was in Nevis with mom and James at the market and we ran around. I begged to go swimming at the beach and James went with me, until mom called us home and we ate some rice from the typical banana leaves a lot of our people used to eat from. It was a tradition and something told me this day would last forever._   
_Its strange, because if I hadn't dreamed about it I would probably never think about this memories again. I honestly feel like drowning, because it is so painful to even think about Nevis and St. Croix, or about James and Mom and Pete, but I can't stop it. If I don't do it, who else will remember them?_

_My new foster family is okay this far. I do the dishes and cook the food, but they leave me alone most of the time. Anny is a calm woman who isn't talking much and her husband drinks a lot of alcohol, but doesn't talks to me much either. I imagined it worse._

_5th of February_   
_I am in the childrens home again. I spent two weeks in the reformation and then one in a psychiatry. Seabury laughed and said that they understand that I am mad now, but I can't even say much against it, because he is right. I take care of myself, at least of my body, but I am writing in every free minute I have, or I read. I hardly talk and now I even attacked my foster father after he called my mother a whore. And I don't regret it at all._   
_But Seabury has no idea what I am going trough and I still want to kill my foster father for saying this. My mother worked hard for her money, so she could send me into school at least sometimes, and when my father left it was the only thing she could do to keep food on the table. He has no idea, althought I didn't understood what she did back then. Now I understand it and I feel my heart shatter when I think about it, about everything she did for me and James until she died and I wished she never had to do something so cruel like this._

_20th of March_   
_They finally decided to send me out of New York. Virginia. They honestly want to send me to Virginia, as if the good air in this rural state would help me to stop being a mad know-it-all that only brings trouble with him. Virginia. I can't believe it._   
_They can't just send me to Virginia and think I will be a new human when I arrive, just because I moved around like a lost piece of luggage nobody wants. Besides, since I came to America I never left New York City and I never planned on doing it either. I like New York, its big and I have the chance of making something of myself. I surely don't have this chance in the South States._

I read from month to month, can't stop myself from swallowing his words and be amazed by his IQ and the things he writes. When I read the last page with any words on it, the sunbeams already creep trough my heavy curtains and I can hear my father having breakfast and leaving the house to go to work.  
He is at the Congress, together with George Washington, and they can hardly stand each other. But at least it means that I can leave the house without him noticing that I hang out with Lafayette again. Since his outing as Genderqueer and becoming Hercules's boyfriend my father hates the Washingtons even more, saying how “they force their son into stuff like this” just so Washington has better promotions. That's bullshit.

I look at the latest and last written page. That was a week ago and I already feel bad that I read the whole diary, but also as if I knew Hamilton since months, without ever speaking with him. I take a deep breath and read.

_5th of October_   
_Two foster homes in state of Virginia and even they gave up. I will stay in this childrens home until I grow out of the system or get a flat on my own, Misses Ramon and Seabury told me. At least it means no bad foster parents anymore, but the most children here aren't any better then the parents they are send to. I have a small chamber on my own, its not big but at least I don't have to share it with any of the younger kids, and can hide my diary and the essays without having to fear that someone finds and destroys them. I don't have anything left to lose, except for my own life and that is only a matter of time, and time was never a friend of mine. So I will do what I can to leave a legacy, before it gets dark._

The words cling to me like bittersweet honey, so hard to swallow because it sticks in my throat and leaves a strange taste on my tongue. Alexanders thought leave me helpless, like I need to do something to help this boy, because he doesn't deserves to be left so alone. And I know exactly who will help me with this.

I get dressed, grab my bicycle outside and drive down the street. When I arrive, I grab the papers in the mailbox and bring them inside. Lafayette and Washington already sit at the table.  
May the odds be ever in my favor.


End file.
